


a hundred days of blindness

by spheeris1



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F, Hate, Introspection, Love, Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spheeris1/pseuds/spheeris1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-S2 // shifting POV // multi-part thing // "And yet here they are, masters in the art of loving to the point of insanity – protection masked as pain, selfishness in the midst of sacrifice – and Piper has no clue what comes next. But it won't be wearing Tevas in Vermont, that's for fucking sure."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. day one - day six

~ ~

_It’s quite an undertaking to start loving somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment right at the start where you have to jump across an abyss: if you think about it you don’t do it.  
– Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea_

[day one]

Piper used to blame Alex for a lot of things – the tears that fell in some other country, the prison sentence ripping apart her future, and all those slender chances slipping through her fingers – but, somewhere along the way, honesty turned into white lies and rules were meant more for bending than following and Piper realized that there was enough blame for the both of them to carry.

Doesn't change the fact that Alex drives her crazy, though.

Doesn't change the fact that Alex is really fucking bad for her and that she is probably really fucking bad for Alex, too; they are the hurricane in each others lives, demolishing whatever was built and leaving the land in ruins.

All the blame in the world doesn't change a force of nature, after all.

And yet here they are, masters in the art of loving to the point of insanity – protection masked as pain, selfishness in the midst of sacrifice – and Piper has no clue what comes next.

But it won't be wearing Tevas in Vermont, that's for fucking sure.

/ /

[day six]

Alex wants to hold onto her anger.

Anger keeps the blood flowing hot in her veins, keeps hard-ass inmates out of her way, keeps her head from pondering anything that smacks of sentimentality.

Anger is a sweet little tool and Alex wants to wield it with skill.

But her muscles have their own agenda and her damn arms still ache to pull Piper close, her legs forever shake with all the moving she is not doing – to Piper's cube, to Piper's side, to Piper at any cost – and suddenly talking to Piper in Chicago seems like the stupidest of actions.

Because that door was near to closing, wasn't it?

Slammed in Paris and then spit upon during her heroin days, dealing and doing as a means of nailing that fucker shut for good, but goddamn if it didn't just swing right open the very second that Alex saw her face again; not as carefree, not as golden, no, but it was still... it was still Piper Chapman...

And it's always been Piper Chapman, hasn't it?

It's always been Piper - knock, knock, knocking against the surface of Alex's dumber than dumb heart – and all the anger in the universe cannot keep the woman from just waltzing right in.

/ /

**(tbc)**


	2. day eleven - day seventeen

/ /

[day eleven]

Nicky says it is like watching a really fucked up soap opera, but then that's prison in a nutshell, right?

A steady running reel of messed up events - the ones that land you in this place and the ones you create once you are here – and then all the drama that soon follows; all the back-stabbing, all the shady deals, all the ways in which you sacrifice a bit of yourself (a bit of the 'better' you, of the 'used-to-be' you) in order to get through the day, through the night, through these months and years.

And you've got your unrequited affection, playing out on the faces of wannabe lovers and friends with benefits – Lorna stares at herself in the mirror, Nicky watches out of the corner of her eye; Taystee laughs out loud, Poussey's soft edges melt even further. And you've got your secrets just itching to be revealed – were those keys left in the van on purpose? How did that woman escape? Who saw what and who is willing to talk?

You've got children on the way and families waiting on the outside, break-ups and make-ups, jokes and endless tears and struggles and stupid fights, human rights alongside taco night – this is life now, right?

And Alex is playing things cool, neither shoving nor falling apart, and Piper is staying strangely silent, and Nicky looks between the two of them with a knowing glint in that jumpy gaze.

And it is just a smirk, just a biting comment, just a playful push to Alex's shoulder and Piper doesn't have the right to feel possessive but she does all the same and Nicky catches it, catches the sudden heat that flashes across Piper's face, and it makes the woman grin like the fucking cat that has snagged the canary.

“Just like a damn soap opera, man...”

And maybe you are all just acting, just pretending to be harder than you are, tougher and smarter and more shrewd; maybe this is all just a front and what you really want is to be held, to be protected, to be loved by someone who sees past the bluff and doesn't hold it against you that you've made mistakes, that you just keep on making mistakes.

And Alex looks away because she wants so badly to stare.  
And Piper walks away because she wants so badly to stay put.

Cue meaningful music. Slowly zoom out. Fade this scene to black.

/ /

[day seventeen]

They are always starting conversations that never get finished, opting to rush headlong into accusations and slights instead of listening to one another, instead of saying what they really want to say.

And so 'fuck you' becomes a kind-of code, doesn't it?

It means _'how could you have hurt me so?'_ and _'why did you leave me?'_ It means _'why did you lie to me?'_ and _'how can I still care about you after everything that's happened?'_

It means _'I wish I could stop how I feel, I wish I could purge you from my body, I wish you would have never walked into my life.'_

It means _'I love you and I wish to god that I didn't.'_

And Piper sees Alex walk down one of the corridors, back straight and gait slow, and so she follows without thinking; she softly stalks from several paces behind and she remembers the slope of those shoulders beneath that khaki uniform, she recalls the taste of that skin – so sweet, so very sweet – and it is so goddamn confusing inside of Piper's heart these days but the rest of her body has all of this figured out.

And she can ignore the questions that need answers, she can push the bitterness and the pettiness aside, she can bite her tongue and save the words – those dangerous fucking words – for another day because they've got a whole hell of a lot of days left, don't they?

Right now, though, Piper follows Alex into the bathroom and the woman turns around at the sound of steps too close and those eyes try so hard to not reveal a single thing as Piper winds her fingers around Alex's arm, as Piper ushers the two of them into the only stall with a door, as Alex does her best to protest against what they've both been so desperate to do – _'No way, Piper, no fucking way, okay?'_

But it doesn't even take a second for them to be kissing each other, to alternate between caressing and bruising, to steal each breath and then give it back again, to slide hands over and under clothing, to quietly moan as hips jerk and roll, to touch upon these familiar landscapes – slick and warm and glorious – and they will start another conversation soon enough, one about love and about hate and about all the ways in which they are painfully, wonderfully perfect for one another...

Right now, though, Alex's nails are digging into Piper's side and their orgasms topple over each other and Alex's voice is hot against Piper's mouth - "...fuck you..." - and Piper cannot stop the self-satisfied grin that blooms upon her face.

_Fuck you, too_ , Piper thinks. _Fuck you, too._

/ /

**(tbc)**


	3. day twenty-two - day twenty-nine

/ /

[day twenty-two]

“It's not like I've forgiven you, you know?”

And it is as true now as it ever has been, from being abandoned after losing her mother to being ratted out to her probation officer at the moment of escape - Alex Vause hasn't forgiven Piper Chapman for anything.

But the words are still not as harsh as they could be, still not as cold as they damn well should be, and this realization settles uneasily within Alex's gut. Because it means that this thing – this ridiculous, never-ending connection that exists between the two of them – will never just be about sex, will never just be about survival behind prison bars, will never just be a bitter game of tallying up the hurts and then exacting revenge.

Because it means that this thing is still about love; a fucked up, twisted form of love, sure, but love all the same. And, really, love is the worst, isn't it?

Love turns you into a liar and a thief ( _a lover made into a mule after-all, a passport hidden in desperation_ ), love takes up residence in your life and wreaks so much havoc ( _a needle stuck in her arm, a river of tears that nearly drown her_ ), love removes the armor from around your heart and leaves you vulnerable to all the feelings you thought you had packed away ( _seeing Piper's face again, seeing that damn face again, and the want returns just as strong as before_ ).

Love, in the end, is a habit that Alex wishes she could break.

But Piper is smiling at her now, all soft and knowing, and it sucks to be so easily read, to be so easily pulled right back into the clusterfuck that is their relationship with one another. It sucks to need someone so much, to crave their touch, to miss them even when they reject you, even when they say that they hate you...

...Love, in the end, sucks.

Because even with Kubra's gun-toting lackeys waiting outside of her shitty Queens apartment, Alex couldn't leave town without seeing Piper one more time, couldn't take off for parts unknown without hearing the other woman's voice, couldn't stop writing letter after letter, hoping that Piper would read them and still give a damn.

Because Alex is in love with Piper - stupidly and recklessly in love with Piper - and they could do this dance for the rest of their lives and Alex still wouldn't choose to sit her tired ass down.

“Guess that makes us even then, hmm?” 

But Piper's lips are warm and sure and they do not attack so much as they gently collide with Alex's cheek, all soft and knowing, and it sucks, doesn't it? To be so easily assuaged, to feel the strong parts of you start to weaken, to know that this love – this fucked up, twisted form of love – is going to bury you alive one day. 

Because this love, in the end, is a landslide and Alex just keeps on falling under.

/ /

[day twenty-nine]

_“Jesus, Chapman... you need to figure out what the fuck you want.”_

It's not that Piper doesn't know what she wants, it's just that she wants so damn much; it's just that she wants it all and the last thing that anyone in prison needs to hear about is a greedy asshole who wants to have her cake and eat it, too.

Piper wants to be out of prison, wants to put Litchfield so far behind her that it seems like a bad dream, she wants to dance all night in a club full of strobe-lights and sweaty bodies, she wants to wake up at three in the morning and eat cold pizza and watch the world go by on those darkened streets below, she wants to flip through the pages of a good book on a lazy Sunday afternoon, she wants to sleep in her own bed, curled up in goose-down as toes and fingers flex leisurely, she wants to open her eyes and see nothing but sunlight, nothing but blue skies, nothing but lush green grass or white sand beaches or a million cobblestone roads or anything at all that isn't the flat, brown landscape of where she is right now.

But Nicky wasn't talking about freedom, of course.

And Piper thought she wanted Larry, maybe she even truly did want Larry for a while. He was nice and he was kind, he was sweet and he was safe. He wasn't going to ask her to carry drug money across European borders and he wasn't going to shove her aside for shady business deals, he wasn't dangerous or overwhelming or maddening.

Larry wasn't going to break her heart and that's exactly what Piper wanted after Alex; Piper wanted to no longer be broken.

And Piper thought that she was ready for that kind of life, that settled down and quiet kind of life, ready to do like Polly was doing, get married and make soaps and give her mother grandchildren. Piper thought she was ready to be that kind of adult, to cut loose the days of her youth and pretend that they had never happened, to reinvent herself once more until the face that she saw in the mirror made sense again.

Piper wanted to start over, that's what she wanted.

But Nicky wasn't talking about the past, of course.

And Piper can feel Alex next to her, thigh comfortably resting against her own, and she can hear every steady inhale and exhale as Alex focuses on something else – a snippet of a chat, a card game at the next table, the words of some novel held between those long, pale fingers – and Piper wants to believe that they can stop hurting one another, that they can turn these moments of intimacy back into trust, that this is a love worth having even as it continues to fuck them over again and again.

Piper wants to believe in Alex. Piper wants to believe in herself.

Piper wants to believe that she can come home, even after everything...

...that's what Piper wants.

/ /

**(tbc)**


	4. day thirty-four - day thirty-eight

/ /

[day thirty-four]

“Did you really start using because of me?”

And they've never talked about it, not after that AA meeting – Piper glaring from her yoga mat, Alex being passive-aggressive behind the podium – and certainly not after they had rekindled any kind of relationship with each other, opting to take hold of pleasure whenever they could and save the deep shit for later.

They are both pretty good at pushing those serious topics aside, after-all.

And Alex would be more than happy to continue doing just that, to pat the past on the back and tell it to take a hike because her hands are busy underneath Piper's shirt and because her mouth is busy with Piper's neck and because talking now will only bring them back to that other reality; that other reality where they are not making out in darkened corners but are tearing each other apart, that other reality where they are not just lovers but criminals, that other reality called prison.

“Are you really wanting to talk right now, Pipes?”

Alex drags her palm roughly over one of Piper's breasts, feels the flesh harden in response and watches as blue eyes slowly roll back, listens to a breath get caught for a second in the depths of Piper's throat before it is released – a gasp, heated and aching – and Alex thinks that that is enough, that's enough to stave off a talk that she isn't sure she is ready to have just yet.

But they don't have a whole night together anymore, they've just got thirty minutes – if even that – and it is all too soon that Alex is watching Piper straighten her clothing, watching Piper run her fingers through blonde hair left a little disheveled, the two of them strangely quiet and removed from one another now that the kissing and the orgasms are over.

And Alex can see it, she can see that Piper has not been distracted, and Alex wants to snap and to snarl before Piper can even get a word out of those pretty damn lips. But more than that, Alex wants to bail and walk out of this chapel, walk away before they start digging up what they've tried so hard to bury, walk away before they fuck up the small amount of comfort that they have managed to find in one another once again.

“Alex...”  
“No, okay? Just leave it, Piper.”

_Walk away before you lose it_ , Alex keeps telling herself, _walk away before this all comes crashing down_.

And Alex is already moving, muscles on auto-pilot as flight overtakes fight, and she is already nearing the door and she is already leaving Piper, leaving Piper with whatever the woman thinks she needs to say or needs to hear said in return.

Alex is already rushing to covering up these exposed places, to get her guard back up before Piper can storm right through--

“I'm sorry... That's all I wanted to say, okay? I never said it, not in all this time... I've never said that I am sorry for leaving you the way that I did and I just... I just felt it was time I finally said it, that's all.”

\--and still Alex falters at the door, a half-step that almost stumbles to a complete stop, and there were days, years and years ago, when she would have given anything to hear Piper apologize, to know that Piper felt guilt at taking off when the shit truly hit the fan, but now they have a million more mistakes attached to their names and Alex wonders if apologies mean anything when they cannot seem to stop throwing each other under the damn bus.

And so Alex just lowers her head, just pushes her way out and into the hallway, away from Piper and away from those words that mean everything and that mean nothing at all.

/ /

[day thirty-eight]

Sex is the easiest part of all of this.

It is easy to feel the desire building – along the spine, deep in the gut, between the legs – and it is easy to feel the heat as it overcomes all the worries and all the doubts, easy to let morals simply slip away - shirts shoved aside as skin is found and so commitments made are soon forgotten, left to languish in the face of this lust that just won't die.

Sex has always been the easiest part of all of this; it's everything else that is hard. 

And it's only been four days; four days of non-interaction, four days of Piper glancing (no, she stares, that's what she is doing) and of Alex ignoring her, and it's only been four days but four days in prison feels like a goddamn lifetime, and so Piper sits on her bed and she is sort-of reading a magazine that is two months old and she is sort-of eavesdropping on some story being told in the cube behind her head ( _“How big was it though?” “Like the size of a baby's arm, a fat baby's arm...”_ ), but mostly she is trying to figure out why it is so fucking difficult to love Alex Vause.

How can they know each other so well, know all the dirty and wicked places that hide beneath the bones, and still not get things right? How can they continually try to protect one another, and by any means necessary, but still twist the truth whenever they try to be honest? How the hell is there any love left between them when they've done everything in their power to kill it?

But maybe Piper would be better off trying to figure out why it's so difficult to stop loving Alex Vause.

Because she cannot stop loving Alex; she's attempted it numerous times, performed an amputation on her heart more than once and did her best to stave off the bleeding, to survive the loss of something so horribly amazing, something so addictive and wrong, and it should have worked, it really should have fucking worked by now...

...but it's been four days, four long and tedious days in which Alex has been shutting her out and Piper wishes she had never said anything at all when they were in that chapel because when has talking about their feelings and about the past ever done them any good at all?

_Never, that's when_ , Piper answers internally, the magazine and the neighboring dick-discussion quickly discarded in favor of her growing sense of irritation – which seems to be a common feeling these days.

And maybe Piper would be better off trying to figure herself out instead of thinking about Alex anyway.

Her anger is becoming a bit of an issue, after-all. It feels a little too good when she is in the midst of a confrontation, it feels a little too comfortable when the words fly out of her mouth or when her fingers edge towards becoming a fist instead of staying loose. There are moments when she wants to simply rage, to curse out the guards and to get in the face of other inmates, to beat on the walls until either they crumble or she is left bloody from the effort; there are moments when she wants to scream until she cannot hear anything else other than the sound of her own breakdown.

And Piper looks down at the magazine that she is holding, looks at the glossy pages slowly being creased and bent, looks at where her real self is shining through, and it's been four days without the one person who can calm Piper down, four days without that warm, familiar voice curling around her ears and it's been four days since they last kissed, since they last touched one another, and it's been four days since Piper parted her lips and said the words she meant to say forever ago...

...it's been four days without Alex and Piper cannot stand it.

And the magazine is a fucking mess now, crumpled and distorted, and Piper cannot help but think of her life in the same damn way; a life spent in more than one kind of prison, a life filled up with apologies and with confessions that come too late, a life where she is in love – unbelievably, stupidly in love - and being in love... well, it feels just like hell.

/ /

**(tbc)**


	5. day forty-three - day forty-seven

/ /

[day forty-three]

The story travels through that ever-gossiping grapevine of women, conflicting reports of who started what and what kind of punishment will be doled out, wrapping up with Nicky giving her a look that is caught somewhere between curiosity and mockery.

Alex can roll her eyes like she doesn't give a shit. Alex can exhale loudly and make that sigh sound annoyed. Alex can leave this room casually, like she doesn't give a damn about anyone or anything.

But everyone in here has someone that matters, someone that carries the weight of all your adoration and all your need; everyone in here has someone who, when they call, you cannot come running fast enough – and Piper is Alex's 'someone'.

Piper will always be Alex's 'someone'.

The story, so far, is that some newbie was doing their best to be tough first, ask questions later, and started up something on the track, the track that one Piper Chapman was jogging around. After that, the facts get a little muddy – one version has Piper knocking the woman down to the ground, without provocation, as a means of keeping her status as a tooth-busting bad-ass; another version has the newbie calling Piper a bitch for jogging too close and so Piper called her a bitch in return and there was a brawl.

Alex could care less about the details, though.

She doesn't look back at Nicky or stick around to listen to anymore rumors, she doesn't pretend to be going anywhere else but the hallway outside of Caputo's office. It doesn't matter that they haven't spoken to each other in days, it doesn't matter that Alex decided to put Piper on ice – the thin kind, the fragile kind – all so she wouldn't have to think about those dark hours, all so she wouldn't have to keep on admitting just how far she has fallen.

No, none of that matters now because all that matters – all that ever seems to fucking matter – is Piper Chapman.

The door opens suddenly, with one woman in orange shaking her head and stomping off, and then Piper follows, blank-faced but still somehow radiating tension, and Alex says her name, the syllables rolling quietly off of her tongue, but Piper barely acknowledges her – a flicker of a gaze as she walks past, cold and unmoved – and Alex didn't realize that she had been holding her breath the entire time until Piper is out of sight, until the air forces its way back into her lungs and nearly bowls her over.

And Alex could let sleeping dogs lie, could turn around and go the opposite direction, could continue to hold out and to hold back and to act as if every impulse isn't steering her towards Piper...

...but Alex finds herself back in the chapel, back to the scene of their latest crime, and in those stained-glassed shadows is Piper, dead center in the first pew, and Alex really dislikes the fact that she is nervous, that she isn't sure what to say or what to do, but her feet keep bringing her closer and closer to where Piper sits; close enough to see the rigid way in which the shoulders are being held, close enough to see the whiteness of knuckles even in this dim light – fists held fast upon the kneecaps – and by the time Alex's gaze reaches Piper's face, she is close enough to see that Piper is barely keeping it together.

“Now is not the time, Alex.”

Piper's voice is rough with emotion and those blue eyes remain staring straight ahead, but Alex sits down beside the woman anyway and Alex doesn't even think twice as she slips her hand over one of Piper's, as she loosens that tight hold and calmly threads their fingers together, as she says _'I'm sorry for disappearing, I'm sorry for running'_ with a gesture more true than words ever could be.

And there is a single rattling breath from somewhere deep inside of Piper's chest, just a small crack in the facade that Piper is trying so hard to maintain, and Alex wishes, for the millionth time, that she could change all of this for the two of them.

“Are you okay, kid?”

And Alex gently pulls Piper's hand into her lap and cradles it there; cradles it and softly runs the pad of her thumb over the veins, over the bones, over the scars that have yet to heal, and she can feel the trembling beneath Piper's skin, she can feel the all the ways in which Piper Chapman is shattering.

“I... I don't know anymore...”

And Alex watches as that crack widens into a chasm; Alex watches as Piper quietly falls apart and she wishes, for the millionth time, that she could turn back all the clocks for the two of them.

Alex wishes she could change everything.

But they are caught between these walls and the outside world, between the missteps that continue to haunt them and a future that is as elusive as ever, between what they have always felt for each other and whatever it is they are doing right now...

...and so Alex holds onto Piper's hand and Piper doesn't let go and they sit in this silence – alone but together, just like always.

Just like fucking always.

/ /

[day forty-seven]

They haven't talked, not really, but the distance has been shored up and when Piper walks towards the table with her breakfast tray in hand, Alex shifts until there is enough room, until they can sit side-by-side. And they haven't talked, not really, but they slide glances towards each other and the rest of the world narrows to almost nothing and it is just green eyes on blue, just for a second, before the symphony of incarceration bleeds back in again.

They haven't talked, but Piper isn't sure if they need to – at least, not right now.

Not right now, not with all the edges running along Piper's body still feeling too sharp, not with the taste of her latest altercation with another inmate still fresh and dangerously sweet upon her tongue.

So, they haven't talked. Not really.

And they haven't done anything else either, errant touches stemming more from instinct than from intent – Alex's hand landing for a moment against Piper's back as a group of them meander into the common room, Piper's fingertips pressing lightly against Alex's wrist in the middle of a shared story – and Piper isn't sure how she feels about the lack of intimate physical contact...

...well, that's not true, she misses it; she misses it the most in the mornings, when she wakes up wet due to want and, frankly, due to habit as well – mornings were when they both had enough time and they would tumble sleepy-eyed, but ridiculously eager, into one of the showers; sex with Alex first thing in the morning has now elicited a Pavlovian-like response in Piper's gut once the dawn starts to break and it takes a considerable amount of strength to tamp the urge down.

But Piper is used to doing battle with rampant impulses these days, struggling to hold back the tide that threatens to overcome her, and sometimes she can keep her head above water but sometimes she just goes right under.

And the other day, out on the track, was like being dragged out to sea.

Piper believed that she never had much of a temper, at least that's what she told herself for a number of years. After-all, having a temper – and, god forbid, expressing it – is not the Chapman way. You ignore it, pushing it back into its little corner of bitterness until it is a shadow, there but not... or you drink until anger of any kind is too drunk to be listened to anyway; problem not actually solved but temporarily managed.

Being in prison, though, has started peeling away the layers of delusion and Piper can now say that she has a temper.

In fact, Piper can probably safely say that she has too much of a temper these days.

Even now, when that new inmate sends a glare her way, Piper can feel her muscles start to coil as she meets this minor threat head-on instead of shrinking away; Piper can feel the way her hands suddenly turn to stone, plastic cup bending within her grip, and it is all too easy for her to let that heady rush of anger flood her body, to let this rage pull her down until she is drowning in it.

“C'mon, Pipes... let's get out of here.”

It is Alex's voice that rumbles into Piper's ear, tone low with warning, and the sound of it seeps slowly into Piper's awareness, causing her to blink and to break off this silent staring match with the inmate a few tables away. But the tension is still there, vibrating along her bones and thrumming hard within her blood, and she knows that Alex can see it as plain as day – Alex can see that Piper is fucking losing it.

And Piper is no longer sure if that is a bad thing or not.

But Alex's gaze is nothing if not imploring, verdant depths swirling with a mixture of concern and understanding, and the longer that Piper looks into those eyes, the weaker this furious resolve becomes and Piper finds her own head nodding in agreement to Alex's request; Piper finds herself following Alex's lead, out of this cafeteria and back to the suburbs, back to just the two of them in Alex's cube.

Piper isn't sure what she expects Alex to say, perhaps another _'Are you okay?'_ \- a question that Piper still doesn't have an answer for - or even just Alex chastising her for almost getting into another bad situation, one that wouldn't result in just a shot but probably in another stint down the hill in SHU...

“It was everything that made me start using, okay? It wasn't just you, Piper.”

...Piper isn't sure what she expects Alex to say, but it is not this; it is not this at all...

“It was the business grinding me down, it was losing my mom... and it was losing you, too, but... it was everything. My life was going to shit and I just wanted to to feel good again.”

...and when Piper looks at Alex, like really looks at Alex, she can trace the lines that the past has left upon the woman's face; she can see the despair that still lingers, she can see where the blows were struck – soft and painfully tender around the mouth, dark and wounded around the eyes – and Piper looks at Alex, like really fucking looks at Alex, and finally sees all of the cracks, all of the broken places...

“I just wanted to stop feeling so fucking lost, you know? I just wanted to stop feeling anything at all.”

...and they are reflections of one another now, torn to pieces by everything they have tried so hard to avoid; they are split down the middle by loss and by bad decisions, by each other and by themselves.

And Piper is the last person alive that anyone should choose to lean on or to find solace with, but she remembers holding Alex's hand in that chapel – an anchor to cling to even as the shore slipped further and further away – and maybe it'll mean nothing in the long run, all of their apologies and all of their explanations, but Piper is pulling Alex into her arms and she isn't thinking about the rage or about the sadness, she isn't thinking about the rules or the consequences; she is only thinking about Alex, about the way the woman collapses into Piper's embrace, and maybe... just maybe...

...they can find dry land together this time around.

/ /

**(tbc)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to 'yet again' by grizzly bear & 'you don't have to be afraid' by kaki king


	6. day fifty-two - day fifty-six

/ /

[day fifty-two]

It's not like everything is suddenly perfect.

It's not like everything that is fucked up is suddenly fixed.

But they are surprisingly languid with their kisses in front of this godly altar, taking their time with every touch – Alex's fingertips ghosting down the center of Piper's chest, Piper's tongue making a slow trail along Alex's hip – and something a lot like contentment blooms between them, flush with life as they steal this moment away from imprisonment, hushed and heated with the decadence of a little bit of honesty... and it's amazing how much of an aphrodisiac the truth can be, isn't it? 

It's not like everything is suddenly great, though.

It's not like everything bad that has happened is suddenly forgotten.

But they are stripping down yesterday from their bodies, leaving grudges and blame on this chapel floor, and they are carving out the parables of this love – this cruel, glorious love – within each other's mouths, within every second of their coming... a gasp echoing off of these forsaken walls, the fluttering of eyelids, spines rising up to meet this desire... and they are building a whole new religion, one full of betrayal and full of forgiveness, full of heroes and full of villains...

...because they are fearfully and wonderfully made, aren't they?

Piper and her fists now undone, clutching at the skin upon Alex's back, and fury turns into a fever.  
Alex and her glares now melted, burying her face within Piper's neck, and apathy turns into adoration.

It's not like everything about them is suddenly so goddamn simple, though.

It's not like everything is suddenly okay.

But there is a gentleness to them now, there is a delicacy to them now; now, as they stand near enough to breathe one another in, as they pause to caress and to kiss in the midst of getting dressed, as they linger in this moment, this moment where it is just the two of them and nothing else matters, and they push away the rest of the world – this prison, those crimes, these mistakes that they just can't stop making...

...and it's not like everything is suddenly perfect, but this moment, this moment right now, is pretty fucking close.

/ /

[day fifty-six]

“So... why did you decide to tell me?”

Alex doesn't have to wonder what this question is about because, truthfully, she has been waiting for it to be asked since last week.

And Piper, being Piper, cannot let things lie for too long; it's not in the woman's nature to just listen, there always has to be a discussion of some kind. And it's not like Alex has been avoiding any further talk about her little 'why I did drugs' confession, but it also seemed easier to not talk about it anymore as well.

 _Easier meaning safer_ , Alex's mind supplies helpfully and she must rein in the tiredest of sighs as it bubbles up to her lips because if she really gave a damn about being safe, then she would have kept her mouth shut in the first place. But there is a foolish heart in the midst of all of her pragmatism and the heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of... right?

“Why did you feel it was time to say that you're sorry?”

And they are sitting on this library floor, kneecaps pressed together oh so comfortably – very Barnes & Noble indeed – but they aren't really reading these books anymore, eyes drifting away from the words so that they can watch each other peripherally; so that Alex can catch a glimpse of Piper bent over a bit of over-dramatic fiction, of that thumb and index finger worrying a paper corner, of the hint of a smile at this question being answered with a just another question.

“Because of reasons.”  
“Same here.”

And just like that the pretense is gone and they are looking at each other and smiling their stupid smiles and Alex cannot even remember the meaning of safety when Piper fucking smiles like that - like they've got inside jokes worth grinning about, like all that damage from ten years ago is just a drop in the ocean...

...like love never once left their veins, no matter how clean they both wished and claimed to be.

Piper's head falls back onto the spines of a myriad of novels, blonde hair tumbling into her face while her gaze remains steady, and Alex sees a million other instances in those blue eyes; Alex sees that first meeting ( _margaritas and false resumes_ ), Alex sees that first night ( _sweet skin and white lies_ ), Alex sees ' _I love you, too_ ' and ' _I can't go with you_ ', Alex sees every beginning and every ending, all the way up to right now.

Right now, right back in love, two tenderhearted criminals who keep on trying to get things right.

“I'm sorry, too, kid... I'm sorry, too.”

And Piper's smile softens into something knowing, into something wise and weary and so fucking beautiful, and if Alex really gave a damn about being safe, she would have never fallen in love with Piper Chapman at all...

“I know.”

...but there goes that foolish heart again, beat-beat-beating to the tune of one name only, and so safety was never really an option anyway, was it?

/ /

**(tbc)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to 'silver currents' by to the wedding


	7. day sixty-three - day sixty-eight

/ /

[day sixty-three]

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Piper?”

And Piper is pacing, back and forth and back and forth, breathing heavily as if she is trapped – and she is, of course, she is an animal now, locked away with all the other beasts – and Alex's words are laced with a new kind of disbelief, a new kind of disappointment, and Piper has to stop herself from lashing out, from turning all of this aggression onto the one person she has left...

“Are you trying to get thrown back into SHU? Is that it? Or maybe get lost down in psych, is that what you want?”

...and Piper is pacing, back and forth and back and forth, the adrenaline slowly subsiding so that she can now feel the soreness near her ribs – right where that fucking woman slammed into her – and Alex is watching her like a hawk, eyes narrowed and angry, and Piper has to stop herself from saying something stupid, from saying something hurtful just to watch these bridges burn...

“You can't drag me back to this place, Piper, and then fucking disappear on me like you always do.”

...but, in the end, Piper's tongue is made of matches and her teeth are too quick to be bared, too eager to get bloody – no matter who the victim might be. And she turns towards Alex, turns and strides until they are inches apart from one another, and Piper can feel the ice descending all along her bones and it feels familiar now.

It feels so disturbingly comfortable to be an asshole now.

“What? Like you were going to leave me here, is that what you mean? After you told me to lie in Chicago and fucked me over again... Is that what we are talking about, Alex?”

And it's just like old times, isn't it?

Wounds forgotten for a moment come back to startling life, cracks underneath the landscape of their relationship widen with fervor, and isn't this how things always seem to go? Understanding lost in remembering, love shoved aside in the name of fury, and they'll press down on these soft places until they are left black-and-blue, until all either of them can see is the pain that they cause each other.

Alex shakes her head, gaze suddenly more broken than hard, and within a catch of florescent light, Piper sees that green-eyed stare shimmer and that only makes the white noise swirling around in Piper's head that much louder.

Louder: all of this affection and all of this hatred.  
And louder: all of this loneliness and all of this wickedness.  
And louder still: so much damn need, so much damn longing...

...and Piper finds her own eyelids squeezing shut against it all, tighter and tighter until it aches, until hot tears are forced down her own face. And she doesn't open her eyes, even when Alex's fingers briefly slide against her cheek, catching sadness in the grooves. And she doesn't open her eyes, even when she hears Alex release a shuddering breath, a sigh that sounds so goddamn tired.

“Guess you and I are never going to learn, are we, Piper?”

And Piper doesn't open her eyes, even when Alex walks away without waiting for a reply; Piper doesn't open her eyes, she just keeps squeezing them shut – tighter, tighter, tighter – and she just keeps on crying.

Crying for all that she wants and for all that she cannot let herself have.  
Crying for all that she has done and for all that she still cannot seem to do.  
Crying for all that she has lost and for all that she continues to push away.

Piper keeps on crying because this is who she is now – a hammer in a room full of glass, smashing everything and everyone that gets in her way – and there's just no going back.

/ /

[day sixty-eight]

_“I'm sorry... That's all I wanted to say, okay?”_

There is something to be said for the methodical, mind-numbing task of doing laundry - dirty items in, clean items out, fold, stack, repeat. It helped, on occasion, to keep Alex from thinking too much when she was first sent to Litchfield; every clean shirt or sheet was another memory or depressed thought neatly tucked away – at least for a little while.

It's just not working this time around, though.

_“...Like you were going to leave me here, is that what you mean?”_

And there are a lot of things that Alex doesn't want to think about – the future she has no plan for, this prison she cannot seem to escape, the father that was never worth a damn, and the mother that she can never bring back – but most of all, Alex sure as fuck doesn't want to think about Piper.

They have returned to avoiding each other, which is sort-of like how they were to begin with in this place – no talking and definitely no touching, endlessly skirting around each other, weak moments of looking that turn into sharp glares if caught...

...and yet, Piper is pretty much all Alex seems to think about.

_“Are you okay, kid?”  
“I... I don't know anymore...”_

But then it's always been like that, always Piper running the length of Alex's thoughts – coming closer, receding, laughing, smiling, yelling, crying, too near, and too far away all the same – and Alex can honestly say that she had no idea what kind of trouble she was letting herself in for that night in that shitty bar, the night when Piper walked into her life (with that silly corn-silk hair and that ugly fucking dress and blue eyes without a shred of guile) and changed everything.

And Alex presses her palms a bit harder onto this never-ending tower of laundered linens, smoothing out the creases with force, trying to push that face out of her brain and trying to forget all that they have said, all that they have done – to themselves, to each other, over and over again – and she stares as hard as she can at this sea of white, trying to be as blank and uncomplicated as these bedsheets.

It's just not fucking working this time around, though.

And it would be one thing to think about the now – about Chicago, about letters and vengeance, about escape plans ruined and even more prison time to serve – but Alex's head keeps on turning backwards, back to Paris and to the day that Piper left her; back to the moment that her world altered once more, leaving her without a single soul to reach out to, and that's where Alex has been stuck for so damn long – in that room, with her heart breaking, watching Piper walk out the door.

_“Please don't leave...”_

It feels like Alex has been saying those words her whole life, forever desperate to hold on to someone who keeps sliding out of her grasp, and it feels like that now, like Piper is spinning out of control, like Piper slipping further and further away, and Alex likes to believe that she can survive anything because, goddamn it, she has already survived so much, but to lose Piper again...

...Alex isn't so sure she could survive that – not now, not this time.

And that realization is as fucking frustrating as one might imagine, the knowledge of this unending weakness hanging heavily on her shoulders, dragging her down with every day that goes by; every day that she and Piper do not interact, every day that she and Piper do not speak or come into contact, every day that sees them loving each other in the midst of all of their hating each other – or hating each other in the midst of all of their loving each other, Alex has isn't sure which way it goes anymore.

_“Why do you always feel so inevitable to me?”_

But being inevitable isn't always a good thing; being inevitable is just like saying that this is unavoidable – all of this love, yes, but all of this pain, too – and that it'll just keep on happening this way, the two of them slamming into one another until they break beyond repair, and yet... and yet...

Alex puts the dirty items in, takes the clean items out.  
Alex folds and stacks and repeats.

...maybe that's all being inevitable truly is, doing what you have to because you must, because there's just no other way for things to be...

And Alex thinks about Piper, always about Piper, over and over and over.

/ /

**(tbc)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my god, everyone should listen to spoon's "inside out"  
> also - i love how fucked up these two are.


	8. day seventy-four

/ /

[day seventy-four]

_We are bound together, you and I_ , that's what Alex thinks to herself in this moment.

This moment wherein she and Nicky walk into the common room, sharp and witty comments dying on their respective tongues as they stumble upon Piper and another inmate grappling with one another.

_We are tethered to one another by a fucking red string, you and I, and there's no getting loose_ , that's what Alex knows, deep down in her cursed bones.

And Alex is about to walk over there, the silence and the sorrow of the past week be damned, but Nicky's hand is around her wrist – grip strong with a warning to not get involved. Alex's annoyed look over the shoulder is only met with Nicky's trademark ' _are you stupid or what?_ ' stare, but that's the thing about all of this, right?

Alex is so incredibly stupid when it comes to Piper.

Still, she is ready to jerk her arm away from Nicky's fingers as age-old instincts rear their stubborn heads – the urge to protect, the drive to defend – but that hold slowly falls away as Nicky's expression goes from caution to concern, dark eyes focused on whatever is going on with Piper and this other woman.

And in the past, Alex might have said that a scenario such as this one – as far-fetched as it would have been – would have found Piper Chapman about to get her ass well and truly beat down.

Because it's not like an upper-class childhood in Connecticut prepares a person for prison fights. Because how to bust a jaw without breaking your knuckles is not a class taught at Smith.

Here in the present, though, Alex is afraid that Piper might kill this woman.

When Alex turns back around, Piper has the other inmate pinned to the wall – arm across the throat, boots sliding and squeaking against the linoleum floor – and Alex barely hears Nicky's words ( _“Yeah, okay, go and stop her...”_ ) as she takes a deep breath and rushes over, as she wraps her long arms around Piper's waist and forcibly pulls the two women apart, as she mentally prepares for Piper to turn all of this vitriol onto her instead...

...and yet, for a few seconds, everything is strangely calm in this mockery of an embrace; everything is narrowed down to the sound of Piper's breathing – heavy inhales, shaky exhales – and to the faint scent of Piper's blonde hair as it brushes against Alex's nose and Alex isn't paying attention to whatever Nicky is saying to that other inmate – something about snitches, something about revenge – and she only spares a fleeting glance to the damage done, to flesh turned red and raw from where Piper leaned onto that woman's neck, because for a few seconds...

...it is just Piper in Alex's arms, no fighting and no pushing away, and Alex hates how good this feels, how good this always feels – no matter how fucked up the circumstances might be; it is just Piper in Alex's arms, relenting for just a moment, and so the mind shuts down as muscle memory takes over - Alex tightens this hold about Piper's waist and closes her eyes, Alex presses her face against the back of Piper's head and her lips part with words that only Piper can hear ( _“I've got you, okay... I've got you...”_ ) - because for a few damn seconds...

...it is just the two of them and nothing else matters.

Until, of course, everything matters once again.

And that other inmate is leaving the room, gaze lit up with more fear than fight, and Nicky is shaking her head and muttering under her breath and Alex can feel Piper slipping away before it actually happens – shoulders going rigid, lungs expanding but refusing to release – and then this moment is broken as Piper shoves herself free from Alex's hold and walks off without a single look back.

“You know she's a ticking time-bomb, right?”

Nicky's voice is forever laced with amusement, even now, and Alex doesn't have the heart to say – out loud – that she knows that Nicky is correct, that she knows that Piper is imploding and anyone who is dumb enough to get in the way of that will come away bleeding.

“But hey, you like jumping on that grenade, don't you, Vause.”

It isn't a question, though, just a statement of fact, because Alex is stupid when it comes to Piper – stupid and reckless and in love far too much for her own good – and because as much as Alex wants to save herself, she wants to save Piper, too; because they are forever connected, marrow to marrow, and Alex cannot imagine a world in which she and Piper are not something – something wild, something foolish, something lovely and fragile in the face of all the bad things they have done...

... _because we are doomed, you and I, doomed to love each other even as it kills us_...

...and this is what Alex knows beyond a shadow of a doubt as she moves past Nicky, as she leaves behind any chance at staying out of the fray, as she follows Piper down to whatever end may come.

/ / /

It was all movement – breath upon breath, stomach clenching, a swell of heat along her spine as she pressed harder and then harder still – and then it was nothing, static once more with someone solid against her back, with something soft and quiet sliding into her consciousness ( _Alex's voice, that's Alex, isn't it?_ ) and suddenly Piper was aware of everything again: a woman's slight, a short fuse, the sensation of hurting, of wanting to hurt someone, of losing control – again, again, again – and the brief, blinding joy that flutters through her body whenever she gives in to this rage, to this hatred, to this Piper that she has just discovered.

Or re-discovered, perhaps; perhaps it was never going to be a passion for justice, maybe it has always been a temper – a deadly fucking temper – just waiting for it's chance to take over.

But the rush always fades away, like a high that must inevitably topple, and that's when Piper doesn't know what do to anymore, who she is anymore; that's when Piper stares at her own hands and feels the terror, that's when Piper weeps because she is no longer recognizable to herself, that's when Piper wonders if prison is the only home for her now – keeping her away from the good people, from the decent people, from all those tender hearts that she might tear into...

...and it is all movement again, her fingers shaking into fists again, her knuckles sore and bruised as they slam into this wall again, her tears trailing down her face again, her world falling apart... again, again, again...

...and Piper wants to fight when Alex finds her, when those hands reach out to stop her from this self-punishment, when that voice rattles into her ears over and over, telling her to stop, begging her to stop this madness, and Piper wants to fight because loving Alex brought her to this place - loving Alex, wanting Alex, needing Alex, trusting Alex... and hasn't that been Piper's prison all along?

Piper wants to fight Alex, to push and shove her around, to yell at her and to wound her, to blame her for all of this; Piper wants to hate Alex for lying to her, for naming her, for using her, for not putting Piper above that fucking business, for making her fall in love with Alex in the first place.

Piper wants so much, though – the anger as much as the calm, to run away as well as face the truth, to destroy even as she creates, to have Alex... to always have Alex... and still somehow be able to leave her behind...

But Alex is cradling her almost like a child, voice warm as it brushes against her damp cheek, and Alex's fingers are so gentle as they thread through her hair, so kind in the middle of this insanity, and what Piper wants most of all, what Piper has always wanted, is a safe place to land...

...and god help her, but Piper wants Alex to be there when she comes crashing down.

“Wanna talk about it?”

And perhaps Piper really is going crazy and incarceration was just the final straw to break her mind's stability, but Alex's question causes her to laugh – a low, rolling sort of laugh – and soon enough Alex is chuckling as well, the two of them holding on to each other as Litchfield dissolves into the background – like always, just like always – and Piper sighs into Alex's neck, tired and happy and worried all at the same time.

“Maybe later.”

Alex's lips graze the side of Piper's head, familiar and comforting, and Piper doesn't let go of Alex this time, she holds on as if this everything...

“I'll be here later, too, kid.”

...and maybe it is just that, maybe this has been everything all along. 

/ /

**(tbc)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kurt vile, 'i wanted everything' & sza's 'julia' - just because. the water got choppy, kids, but i like where i've washed up.


	9. day eighty-two - day eighty-six

/ /

[day eighty-two]

“Sometimes I want to tear the world apart with my bare hands.”

Piper's voice is soft, non-threatening and Alex keeps on looking at the cards she is holding – a pair of threes, nothing to be that pleased with.

“Okay...”

Piper puts a card on the table – face down – and Alex takes another one from the deck, sliding it over until it bumps up against Piper's waiting fingertips. Piper lifts one corner and then huffs in minor disappointment at what she's drawn.

“It's like... I don't know, if I fight... I'm in some kind of control...,” and Piper catches Alex's quick, amused glance, and her own lips turn just a bit upwards in return, “...okay, yeah, maybe my version of being in control is a little fucked up these days...”

Alex smiles just a bit into her cards and allows her gaze to drift from the game and to Piper's face; Piper's face, oh so familiar and yet somehow brand new, beautiful but battle-weary, blue eyes staring hard at this hand she has been dealt.

“Everything's a little fucked up these days, Pipes...”

They are watching each other quietly now, cards still held aloft but mostly forgotten, and Alex thinks of her own anger, of her own special brand of falling apart; Alex thinks about shooting up in the bathroom ( _not just alone but so damn lonely_ ) and Alex thinks about weeping like a child ( _tenuous faith forever shattering_ ).

But pain is pain – no matter how it decides to come out, fists flying or needles in the arm – and this is just another patch of land that the two of them share, this is just another way in which they are connected to one another.

“...It's not just you.”

' _It's not just you_ ' – and the words roll through Piper's body, into the chest and then outward to the palms, to the kneecaps, to the toes, and Piper wonders if this is what it feels like to belong somewhere, this sensation of your bones settling into place, of being warm and solid and alive.

' _It's not just you_ ' sounds a lot like home.

And here they are, with no more aces up their sleeves and no more hearts on the line; here they are, putting everything on the table this time – the mistakes, the wounds, this need, this want, all of the used-to-be and all that they are yet to know... and right there, lingering unspoken on their tongues, is a promise that they are in this together now...

“So, you got anything worth showing over there, kid?”

And if Piper had her way, she'd let these cards tumble out of her hands and she'd lean across this table and kiss Alex Vause within an inch of her goddamn life – as if they had all the time in the world, until they could barely breathe - but this is still prison and there are still rules to follow, even if Piper cannot seem to stop breaking them at every turn, and so she shrugs her shoulders instead, a small grin coming to life upon her lips.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't... Guess you'll have to call and find out.”

...and they are really fucking in this together now, aren't they?

Alex can feel it, like finally remembering something that she had forgotten, something so lovely and so damn fine, and it slips underneath her ribcage, it slides right into her heart and won't let go; Piper Chapman is in her heart and she just won't let go and Alex wouldn't have it any other way.

“All-right...”

And Alex lays down her hand, eyebrow raised in challenge, and Piper's eyes light up oh so knowingly.

“...I call.”

/ /

[day eighty-six]

Everyone in here develops a routine, a method to this madness called imprisonment, and the subtle ways in which patterns form – shower always at five in the morning, smiling at the same faces, lamps and laundry and library books – creates a sense of security in the midst of so much instability.

You don't have to think about what is waiting for you outside of these walls – or, perhaps more aptly put, what isn't waiting for you outside of these walls. You don't have to think about the very real possibility that there isn't a future, all pretty with ribbons and bows, standing still while you make your slow return.

Everyone in here does what they have to in order to survive; survive the bad food and the bad CO's, survive the crushing loneliness and all the ways in which you become hard instead of staying soft, all the ways in which the truth finally peels back the layers and reveals who you really are.

You don't have to think about lying anymore – to others, to yourself – because now you've been caught, now you are looking at your face in the mirror and you see everything; everything you used to hide from, everything you used to bury, everything that you swore wasn't you at all.

_No, I don't have to pretend anymore..._

And somewhere between night and morning, while the staff is still groggy and the kitchen girls are wiping their drowsy eyes, Piper slips her fingers inside of Alex, pushing in so deep and pausing, holding this moment like a treasure, holding Alex's dilated stare until the woman pleads in whispers, until they are both moving – quick, wet, breathless – until they are moving seamlessly from pleasure to precipice, all too soon and not nearly soon enough.

_...I don't have to tell myself that this isn't what I really want, that this isn't what I've wanted all along..._

And somewhere between the drumming of her restless heart and the turning of her reckless thoughts, while all the things they've yet to fully discuss linger around the edges of their days, Piper presses her lips to the damp length of Alex's neck and can almost taste the pulse, can almost feel it thrumming along her tongue, and they don't have to think about yesterday, they don't have to think about tomorrow – not right now, not with their bodies so damn close - they don't have to do anything other than love each other, to just finally fucking love each other.

_...No, I don't have to run away from this..._

And somewhere between everyone in here and everyone out there, between those jilted lovers and all those other lost daughters, somewhere in the midst of such insanity is this – Piper's cheek against the flushed skin of Alex's chest, with every steady beat like a lullaby; somewhere between time served and crimes committed, they have found each other again and this time... this time, Piper isn't going to let go. 

_...I don't have to run away from you and I anymore._

/ /

**(tbc)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clare maguire's song 'whenever you want it' is damn near perfect.


	10. day ninety-one - day ninety-three

/ /

[day ninety-one]

They never talked about a future of any kind during those heady days of high-priced drug deals and all-night fucking. Back then, they were moving from pillar to post at the speed of light; they were rushing headlong towards the next sweet destination, towards that next lust-filled high.

There is no such thing as a future when you are young and wealthy and in love.

But after her brief and depressing turn back in the outside world, Alex finds her thoughts drifting towards the future more and more these days – and there isn't much there to cheer about. All the money that she once had was seized, tainted with the illegal ways in which she earned it, and with her arrest went the lovely apartment, the lovely clothes, and all the lovely bits and baubles she had collected over the years.

Yeah, it might have been born of breaking the law, but Alex lost her good life, too.

And then, of course, there is Piper.

Alex does her best to not think about the fact that Piper's days in this place are dwindling further and further down while her own time in Litchfield stretches out before her like an endless fucking ocean.

Instead, Alex chooses to lose herself in their delicious return to form - Piper's fingernails digging into her shoulder, Piper's hips rocking unevenly with so much want, Piper's orgasms sliding hotly onto her tongue - and, for a moment, all those pesky fears and all those deep-seated doubts and all those questions that she is so damn afraid to get the answers to...

For a moment, everything except the two of them seems to flutter away in a haze of stolen pleasure, disappearing within the heat and familiarity of their touches.

Still, once they come back down to earth and Piper is kissing her cheek before rushing off to another mindless day of barely-there electrical repair, once Alex is back on the solid ground of being in prison then all those doubts and fears and questions flood right back into her mind.

Because maybe they didn't talk about the future way back when, back when Piper was more inclined to overlook the bad deeds being done and back when Alex might have had the means to build a life beyond the drug trade, but they have talked about it since, haven't they?

A tiny little conversation about how shitty they both are, about Piper's need for a plan and how Alex doesn't have one, about Cambodia and free-falling; a tiny little conversation that just scraped the surface of all that they ache for, a teaser of what could come if they were willing – hands intertwined and a whole lot of open air beneath their feet...

Yeah, they talked about the future once, but Piper chose Larry and that was end of all their conversations.

Or it should have been. Or it was, for a while, until the trial in Chicago rolled around, until she saw Piper's face again - as lost and as lovely as ever - until she heard Piper yelling at her ( _“Fuck you, Alex... Fuck you!”_ ) and suddenly the only thing that mattered to Alex was talking to Piper again, suddenly all that mattered was Piper – even after everything that had happened – it was Piper all over again, always and for-fucking-ever.

_It'll always be Piper, won't it?_

And Alex watches as Piper enters the room, an affectionate smile gracing those pale pink lips, and her damn heart almost skips a beat, as if the motions of this organ are tied irrevocably to the shifting of Piper's mouth... and then there they are again, those thoughts about the future, those thoughts about losing Piper once more, of being stuck here – an ex-con still trapped behind bars – while Piper slowly but surely moves on with her life, her life without Alex really in it.

Fears.

_It'll always be you, Piper, and I am going to have to watch you walk away again, I'm going to have to let you go again..._

Doubts.

_...You won't need me out there, you'll forget to write and you'll forget to call, you'll realize that you can leave me behind for good this time..._

Questions.

_...What if we just fuck it up all over again? What if this love of ours isn't enough to keep us together?_

And Alex watches as Piper slides a bit closer, hand reaching out until it finds what it wants, and the dialogue of this movie turns into gibberish within Alex's ear, drowned out by the sensation of Piper's skin against her own – fingertips grazing the lines of Alex's palm, all smooth and soft patterns, the kind that only they can see, the kind that only they can feel...

...and there it is, resting upon every path that Piper has created, there's the future that Alex is so desperate to have and yet so terrified to truly believe in.

/ /

[day ninety-three]

It's still there, simmering along the edges her bones – sleek and oh so insidious – it's still there, that white hot anger, but Piper does her best to keep it all in check. She focuses on the words of this book, she listens to whatever story Nicky is telling around this table, she inspects the wires of this busted socket with far more attention than it is worth, and she sinks into each and every sigh that Alex is able to pull from her lips.

Piper does her best, but this rage is so very patient and all it needs is an opening; all it needs is a harsh comment from a CO or a challenging look from another inmate, all it needs is another disappointing visit with her mother or a reminder that she no longer has a best friend, all it needs is this place, this fucking prison with its dirty corruption and its endless punishments...

...and suddenly that door, the one that keeps Piper sane and safe, is blown off its hinges.

Someone knocks into her, a random and accidental thing, and Piper knows that it is not personal, Piper knows that this is just a thing that can happen when a person isn't looking – eyes down on the floor, thoughts miles and miles away – Piper knows all of this but it doesn't matter, not today, not when she is so eager to snap.

It's like second-nature now, the way she turns around and grabs a fistful of this woman's hair, the way she uses her whole body to propel this woman's shocked and yelling face into the wall; it's like breathing now, the way her muscles react without hesitation and the way her rambling brain shuts down, everything automatic and simple and so fucking easy...

Piper tightens her grip, all of her nerve-endings singing with this terrible release, and she catches a glimpse of blood - a tiny swatch of red against these off-white surroundings – right before the guards pull her back and slam her to the floor.

Of course, that's when the thrill of losing her temper starts to fade and that's when Piper realizes that she has fucked herself over – again – and she is falling apart somewhere deep inside, hidden away from the wary stares of inmates and CO's alike, falling apart until she is left in pieces, and the last face she sees as she is hauled away to solitary is Alex's...

...no, not there, not really, but there in Piper's mind, that's where Alex is – shaking her beautiful head, dismayed once more over another one of Piper's messes – and Piper wants to say that she is sorry, sorry for that phone-call she asked Polly to make, sorry that she didn't stick around for the sake of a dead mother, sorry that she ever said that she'd carry that bag onto that plane...

Piper is so sorry, so fucking sorry for so many things, and the last of her resolve melts away as the door shuts behind her back, as the sounds of screaming women – all lost, all wounded, all going mad – creates the worst kind of symphony within this concrete box, and that's when Piper starts to cry.

No, not like before, not out of newly found terror or little girl fright, but from somewhere primal comes this sorrow, tearing its way up from her stomach and through her lungs, and these chest-heaving sobs wet the flat gray stone beneath her shaking hands, tears clouding her eyes and staining her cheeks.

“I'm sorry...,” and the words cut like glass, sharp and painful as they leave her tongue, “...I am so sorry...”

That's for Alex.  
That's for her grandmother.  
That's for her parents and her brothers.  
That's for Larry and the life they might have had.  
That's for being stupid and naïve and vengeful and a liar.

“...so fucking sorry...”

And that's for herself.

That's for the girl she mislead and mistreated all those years ago, the girl that she kept silent as a father continued cheating and as a mother drank away the truth.

That's for the woman she has found behind these bars – furious and flailing, a tangled web of childish wants and cold awareness, a wreckage that lives and breathes and litters the shore of anyone who meets her.

_That's for all of it_ , and Piper weeps until nothing remains, _that's for everything_.

/ /

**(tbc)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love doesn't solve everything, you know?


	11. day one hundred

/ /

[day one hundred]

After the crying, after the staring at nothing, after all the wailing turned into white noise, after everything else fell away, Piper Chapman slept for hours and hours and hours. 

She'd turn from one side to the other every once in a while, she'd blink into the horribly bright florescent lighting and blink back out again, but otherwise, she slept. They'd wake her for the bathroom or a cold shower, they'd toss in a tray of something that was maybe once edible and she'd force down a few bites, but otherwise...

...she slept; she slept long and hard, turning her shirts inside-out and drooling, and she dreamed, endless damn dreams about so many things, dreams both weird and wonderful, dreams about the past and the present, dreams of sex and of sorrow and of all the points in between - 

( _she was the maid of honor at Larry and Polly's wedding but she kept on interrupting the vows; she was naked and running down the halls of Litchfield, chased by the laughter of children she could not see; she was drowning and flailing and someone was yelling for her to swim, dammit, just start swimming; she was kissing someone, someone that she knows all too well, and they were moving between her legs, all soft and smooth and fucking amazing_ )

\- and it was better than being awake, better than thinking about this reality she had created, better than swallowing down another mouthful of regret, better than wondering how long she'd be down here this time, better than giving in to that tidal-wave of fury and busting her knuckles against these floors.

And so she slept. And so she dreamed.

Until they came to take her back once more, back to another set of sturdy walls to serve a sentence behind, back to this brave new world that Piper Chapman still isn't sure she knows how to face.

**. . .**

Worry tends to have a strong effect on Alex Vause.

It makes her jumpy and hard to communicate with, it makes her feel vulnerable and feeling vulnerable makes her irritated because vulnerability is the enemy, right? Once people see the cracks, they know they can split you apart; once people know your soft spots, they just cannot help but to press and to prod.

After all, that's what Alex has done so many times before – in the business, in relationships, deep down inside of herself.

But this worry, this worry that is gnawing at her brain, is something else; this worry is tangled up in want and in fear – so much goddamn fear – and this worry squeezes tightly around her battered heart and it feels just a little bit like she is going to... like she's going to just...

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

...and Alex's whisper is harsh, harsh and angry and terrified, because it feels like someone has her lungs in a vice, because it feels like someone is trying to kill her...

...and if Piper were right in front of Alex, right this second, Alex swears that she would slap her, slap her and shake her until that silly brain rattles in that pretty skull. Alex swears that she would end things, she'd take a knife and cut the ties that bind them together, she'd run a mile and then run some more, anything to make this madness end...

...Alex swears that she would turn away, she'd save herself and not look back this time around.

But when Piper is actually right in front of her, washed out and blinking against the sunlight and so very silent, the pressure lessens within Alex's ribcage and the air comes flooding in and Alex swears that she hates this – this sweet relief, this fragile joy – but she is starting to cry all the same, hot and stupid tears, and she is taking Piper into her arms, holding the woman like it's been years instead of seven days, and when Piper sinks into her embrace, trembling fingers gripping onto the strands of Alex's hair and disappearing into the folds of Alex's shirt...

...Alex swears that she must be insane to love someone as much as she loves Piper Chapman.

**. . .**

Piper doesn't know what to do with all of this – her failures, her mistakes, her rage, her blame – but she is sliding her gaze to where Alex is holding onto her hand, the two of them tucked away in this chapel, and Piper says the words out loud, says them clearly and openly, says them so that Alex can hear them and decide if these tender moments somehow justify the troubles to come, if all the love in the world is worth the heartache that will surely return.

“I am such a fucking mess and I don't know... I don't know if I will figure things out anytime soon and I love you, Alex...”

Piper keeps on staring at their fingers, looped together and comfortable, while she feels Alex's eyes on her – as steady as the sea, waiting for this other shoe to drop – and Piper softly runs the pad of her thumb over Alex's skin, memorizing and relishing all at once.

“...but I keep thinking I should be the bigger person here and let you go, let you go because I don't even really have myself anymore... I feel like I'm drowning, Alex, and I don't want to drag you down with me.”

Piper finally looks up and Alex is watching her still, features almost coolly impassive, but Alex hasn't let go of her hand and so Piper takes that as a sign that Alex is – at the very least – not pissed off at the words coming out of Piper's mouth.

“You think I'm that easy to drag down, kid?”  
“C'mon, Alex, you know what I mean...”  
“Yeah, Pipes, I get it, I do. I get that you're afraid and that you're feeling like you can't handle any of this, I get that you are angry, but guess what? So am I. So is everyone in here.”

Alex lets go of Piper's hand but only to move closer, to tug Piper's willing body into Alex's arms, to keep Piper from being able to see anything other than Alex's face.

“We are all trying to find ourselves again, Piper... and I know that we're about as fucked up as two people can be, but I love you, too, and I don't think you want to go through this alone anymore than I do.”

And Piper wants to say that it is crazy to keep on trying, that being alone is the safer option these days, that all they ever do is hurt each other – sometimes on purpose, sometimes just because – and Piper wants to say that there might come a day when she'll turn this vitriol onto Alex, there might come a day when Alex will want to walk away for good, there might come a day when Piper loses it and she won't come back from the edge – she's been close, oh so close – and Piper wants to say all of this, she really does, but Alex is looking at her like she already knows everything that Piper could say, like she knows all the reasons and all the excuses and she just doesn't give a damn anymore.

Alex is looking at Piper like they can make it, like they really can make it through prison and beyond, through their past and all their problems – from the deep-seated to the ridiculous; Alex is looking at Piper like they can survive anything at all.

And Piper wants to say that this is crazy because it is, god knows it is...

“So, what's it going to be, Piper?”

...but the words wither away on her tongue and she leans forward until her lips collide with Alex's, until they are kissing in a pew in Litchfield Correctional Facility, kissing in their home for crimes committed and for poor life choices, kissing like Paris never happened, like Chicago never happened – even though they did, even though neither of them will ever forget.

They are kissing like they aren't completely broken, like drugs were never taken and like lies were never told, like hearts were never shattered, like all the bad shit didn't tear them up and tear them apart, like Piper isn't furious all the time, like Alex isn't scared all the time.

They are kissing like they are in this together and Piper knows that this is crazy, she knows it, but that's love and that's life and maybe they will survive all that comes their way, maybe with a little bit of kindness, with a little bit of honesty, with a little bit of blindness...

...maybe they'll make it after-all.

/ /

[ **end** ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching the third season prompted me to finish this one. Perhaps this chapter could have been longer but sometimes dragging out the decisions of characters doesn't make much sense; you know where they are going and so let's get them there, yeah?  
> If you remember this one, cheers if you dig the ending. I am a fan of hope in the face of all those pesky facts.


End file.
